


Unquestioned

by j_louise



Category: History Boys - All Media Types
Genre: Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_louise/pseuds/j_louise
Summary: Posner comes to the realisation that love doesn't have to feel like an explosion.





	Unquestioned

Posner had always thought that falling in love would be like an explosion - fireworks, and champagne bubbles on his tongue and an orchestral crescendo. That was how he had felt with Dakin, more or less, so he had assumed he’d loved him. Okay, so, instead of fireworks it was Catherine wheels that made his head spin, the bubbles on his tongue were more like the sharp shock of popping candy, and the orchestra resembled the chaotic crescendo of “A Day In The Life”. But, still. Close enough. Even when he realised that he and Dakin were never going to fall in love and live happily ever after, this was the type of feeling he sought. It was the closest thing he knew to love, or so he thought, and every time he felt the familiar Catherine wheel swoop in his belly he thought “Maybe I’ve found it this time”. 

This, of course, lead to Posner falling for a long line of Dakins. Since he’d arrived at Oxford he’d had his eyes opened to the many options open to him that weren’t Dakin himself. Unfortunately, they all fit the same sort of mould. First there was the boy in his World History lectures who was after a new girl every week and never gave Posner a second glance. Then there was Posner’s first ever boyfriend - although a few trips down the pub and a limited number of heavy handed snogging sessions hardly qualified as a boyfriend, he thought. He had given Posner the slip for a far more interesting and experienced international student. After that was the boy who would sit in the grand old dining hall in his scuffed up leather jacket, and Posner would stare at him dreamily from across the hall but never managed to work up the courage to actually speak to him. The list goes on. And on. 

“How can you expect anything different when you keep going for that kind of bloke?” Scripps would ask during Posner’s weekly mope over a pint in the student union bar.

“What kind of bloke?” Posner asked, frowning and trying not to let his bottom lip jut out. 

“I don’t know, the ones you’re too intimidated to speak to? Or the ones who can only care about themselves because their ego’s the size of Tom Quad?” Scripps replied, chuckling slightly.

He had a point, Posner thought, but they were the ones who made his head spin. He couldn’t help that. 

The first time he thought he might have got his ideas about falling in love a little mixed up was about a year after he’d graduated from Oxford. He and Scripps had rented a small flat in Berkshire - it was convenient, cosy and simply seemed like the best option. One morning, in late September the year after they’d moved in, Posner had woken up to find himself on fire. On fire, and soaking wet at the same time. Posner wondered at the the scientific possibility of this as he forced his eyes open and rasped a breath that burned his lungs. He looked down at his body. Alright, so, not on fire. However, from what seemed to be a pretty bad fever, he did feel like he was burning up from the inside out. His first thought was to call for Scripps but all that escaped his lips when he tried was a painful squeak. No voice. Brilliant. Giving up hope, he let his heavy eyes drift shut. When he opened them again he felt slightly less like he was being burned at the stake. Slightly. He licked his dry, chapped lips and focused his eyes on the figure above him.

“You alright, Pos?” Scripps asked from the chair beside his bed. 

Posner didn’t bother to even try and respond verbally, just sent him a look as if to say ‘What do you think?’. However, he couldn’t be too annoyed as he realised the reason his fever had lessened was due to the cold, damp flannel Scripps was holding to his forehead. It was as if the cool comfort of the compress was washing down throughout his body, calming and soothing the liquid fire in his veins and slowing the dizzying spin of his head. In his feverish state, a thought flashed through his head that maybe this feeling of easy relief was far preferable to the deafening boom of fireworks. 

Of course, due to his feverish state, Posner didn’t recall this particular realisation after he got better. Even his appreciation for the easiness of his relationship with Scripps was rarely thought about - as is the way with things that are easy, unfortunately. Ease comes naturally and therefore it is not questioned. Waking to the sound of Scripps’ fingers wandering smoothly across the piano keys was not questioned. Scripps pushing a mug of tea into Posner’s hands and dragging him onto the sofa for a chat after a bad day was not questioned. Clambering into Scripps’ bed on a cold night and pressing his icy feet against him was not questioned. Simply because it was all so pleasantly easy.

This is probably why, when Scripps looked up from his book to smile at Posner and finally, _finally_ , leaned over to press their lips together for the first time, it was not questioned. It was comfortable and soothing and it just felt right. And then Scripps went back to his book, and Posner went back to sewing up a hole in his shirt, and things just continued. 

It was around this time that Posner realised that maybe love didn’t have to feel like an explosion. Maybe the fireworks had turned into the peaceful crackle of flames in the fireplace. The orchestral crescendo had become light fingers drawing a ballad from the piano keys. The excitement in his belly hadn’t gone away but rather than the roller coaster drop of adrenaline, he now felt the gentle and pleasant feeling of butterfly wings fluttering inside him. Perhaps love hadn’t been quite what he’d imagined but, he thought, as he flopped into bed and slung an arm around Scripps’ waist, he couldn’t imagine anything better than what he had right now.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first piece of writing in a really, really long time so hopefully it's not too scrappy. I've just been very bothered by the small amount of fic in this fandom, and I love these boys a whole lot so here we are. Thanks for reading, hope you relate to my Pos/Scripps emotions.


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